On Friday I went round to my Dad's to watch Norwich City v Nottingham Forest. The latter (my team) lost 2-1 and are now doubts even to make the Championship play-offs and another season in relative obscurity beckons. I had a walk down The Tavern for a couple of late ones to cheer myself up. When I walked in I was greeted by bar staff chuckling to themselves and asking me if I had had a "Good time" the night before . Apparently it had taken them a good three quarters of an hour to get me and my new best friend out of there. I settled into a round with Bob (landlord) and Tom (his son) and leisurely quaffed Youngs ale (only £2.40! A bargain!) until towards the end of the night when I was accosted by some late entries to the pub who I am the barest of acquaintances with. I was refused a repeat of Thursday's antics so retired to my flat nursing a bottle of Rose wine and in the company of said latterday rowdies. They were like Tasmanian Devils once in domesticity and it took me a good hour to get rid of them. I began to know how the bar staff felt.
|Your average guest at Casa Edwards|
...And so to Sunday and the day of The London Marathon, which I sensibly slept through. I had been invited to "Help Japan", an all-day rockabilly & psychobilly benefit gig at Dingwalls in Camden. Obviously I asked partner-in-crime and general drinking buddy Steve along. Leaving the quite excellent Lisa to oversee his pub for another stretch, we got the train down from Luton and got to Camden for around half two and got stuck in to some Turkish wraps and Galician pork stew for a hefty lunch in preparation for what was sure to be a massive bender. It wasn't. We queued up for forty five minutes only to get in and find the bar so crowded that it was taking a further twenty to get served. The first few bands were all of a muchness and the promise of a score of them by eleven looked unlikely to say the least as endless raffles and kit-changes slowed things up to a snail's pace. Things suddenly started ramping up about 7pm when a lot of the more traditional rockabillies buggered off. This was a double score. On the one hand, the bar emptied sufficiently for us to really get stuck in AND in rapid succession I was treated to Porky's Hot Rockin', King Salami & The Cumberland 3, The Space Cadets, Coffin Nails, Restless and to cap it all off, King Kurt.
|King Salami & The Cumberland 3 with special guest idiot in foreground|
|Steve thought it would be a good idea to take a photo of the line up so we could remember who was on. The order changed out of all recognition, as did my perception of reality by the end|
I woke up at 8am on the wrong end of his sofa to a text from my friend Lorie who informed me that my car alarm was going off. I thanked her and told her I planned to do nothing at all about it as it was 8am. I got up about eleven and felt like I'd run the London Marathon, stopping at the drinks points for booze and take away rather than water. It dawned on me that Steve and I had effectively been on our feet for fourteen hours the previous day, standing awkwardly, dancing, yomping or running up and down escalators. It's a miracle I'm here at all, it really is. Spare a thought for Steve though - he did the whole thing in flip flops.